


i'll keep the king

by madnessiseverything



Series: a wilder narnia [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood Pacts, Book/Movie: Prince Caspian, Gen, Magic, Oaths & Vows, Vulnerability, mix of book and movie verse, now with a bonus second chapter!, the pevensies might not be very human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: It is instinct that leads a shaken Caspian to hold out a bloodied hand, cut by a traitor's blade, to the silent High King in front of him. It is instinct that bends his knees as he presents his palm to the other boy. It is instinct, not the wish to make up for his misjudgement of a now-dead dwarf, that makes his eyes lock onto the shadowed gaze of Peter with an offer.the one where narnia's high king accepts an oath and caspian catches glimpses of old narnia in the process.
Relationships: Caspian & Peter Pevensie
Series: a wilder narnia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952599
Comments: 16
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "but atlas," you might say "are you really starting another narnia series, when you haven't even updated the others?" and to that i say: ... mayhaps. but this has been sitting in my drafts for a good while now, and the itch to post it became unbearable. so here i am, kicking off my series of ficlets set in a slightly wilder, more unhinged narnia. i promise i'll update the others soon.
> 
> (title from king - the amazing devil)

It is instinct that leads a shaken Caspian to hold out a bloodied hand, cut by a traitor's blade, to the silent High King in front of him. It is instinct that bends his knees as he presents his palm to the other boy. It is instinct, not the wish to make up for his misjudgement of a now-dead dwarf, that makes his eyes lock onto the shadowed gaze of Peter with an offer. The stone floor is cold against his knees. He hopes Peter can see everything Caspian cannot put into words on his face.

It is tradition that makes Peter reach for a dagger to cut his palm to match Caspian's, never breaking the silence that has grown so heavy. It is tradition that makes him pull the prince to his feet again, tradition that makes him clasp their cut hands in the space between their bodies. It is entirely his own reasoning that he tugs Caspian close enough to lean their foreheads together. 

Neither speaks for a while, their eyes locked onto each other. Caspian focuses on the steady thrum of his heart beating in his palm. Gradually, he becomes aware of the echo of Peter's pulse and his breath stutters. He thinks of all the stories that he has heard, about the legends told of the Magnificent High King. Of the glory and the steady sword, of the victories. He knows now that there is more to it than that, but it doesn't lessen the awe kindling in his chest. The High King of Old stands with his forehead pressed against Caspian's, holds onto him with the very hands that defended Narnia in her Golden Age. The sword that brought victory onto Narnia's shores many times dangles just out of sight. The Narnia Caspian has yearned for all his life is standing before him; proud, unflinching and  _ alive _ , breathing the same air as him. 

It is then that Caspian thinks of what he offers. A promise, to fight for Narnia and her people, to give himself to the prosperity of the country that took him in. A vow that he swears to never break, 'til the day he shall die. An open heart, to welcome Narnia as she takes him for herself. An oath of devotion sworn in Narnia's old ways.

Peter pulls up their clasped hands, untangles them and draws the blood across his mouth in a harsh line. The motion speaks of a Narnia long past, of those ancient times that Caspian can only dream of and still sees living on in the other boy. Peter's eyes never leave his. Blue shines amber in the firelight, almost golden. They are unwavering, full of something that Caspian cannot decipher. Yet somehow, Caspian knows that more than Peter is looking back at him, that Narnia herself is holding him in her sight through the eyes of her High King. 

Caspian knows right then and there, with a certainty that knocks the breath out of his lungs, that Peter will put him on the throne. The one Caspian's family has stained crimson so carelessly, the one Caspian is to reclaim for the Narnians - the one that used to be Peter's own. Peter will hand Caspian the crown with grace and a scarred palm. And Caspian will sit on that throne with his crown and still feel the pounding of the High King's pulse within his veins. He will feel it for the rest of his life. He has no doubts that Peter knows this as well as he does. 

He doesn't think any amount of water will remove the stain Peter's lips leave as he drops their hands and kisses Caspian's forehead. It’s gentle beyond belief and rattles Caspian to the core. The regal gesture snaps something within him, and he starts shaking. The weight of the silent oath he's taken presses in on him, threatens to overwhelm his every sense as it pushes at his body. He thinks his legs might give out were it not for Peter's grip on his shoulder. His eyes burn.

"Steady, Caspian." Peter's voice is low, rough. It settles in the air with such power that Caspian cannot stop himself from gasping quietly. As if recognising the order, Caspian's tremors slow as quickly as they came on. "You shall carry it well." There are no traces of concern or doubt in his words, only a certainty too much for Caspian to bear.

"How do you know?" Caspian asks, eyes locked onto the floor between them. Even still, he feels how the High King watches him. 

Peter doesn't speak, but grabs hold of Caspian's cut hand with his own. Peter's fingers are wet with their mixed blood but careful regardless. He inspects the wound, turns it in the torchlight. Caspian holds his breath. Peter's other hand slides up to Caspian's neck, steadying his slumped head. "We would not have accepted your gift if we thought you would bring ruin to our people." Caspian now knows that the power hanging upon every word Peter speaks must be Narnia, her magic following her High King's voice into the How. Peter closes Caspian's wounded hand into a loose fist, draws a circle on the back of it with his thumb. Then he tugs both their hands up and presses them into Caspian's chest, his cut hand wrapped entirely around Caspian's. 

Caspian feels flayed open suddenly; like Peter has dug into his skin and pulled his ribcage apart. It's not an unpleasant feeling, he realises. On the contrary, Caspian finds himself welcoming it. It feels unlike anything he has ever felt before; worming its way through his chest and wrapping roots around his bones. It brings with it the taste of fruit and honey wine, and most of all, it feels like  _ home.  _ He closes his eyes, feeling both horribly overwhelmed and immeasurably grateful.

A soft calm, not unlike a morning breeze, radiates off of their clasped hands from where they rest just above Caspian's heart. He can feel Peter look upon his heart with those age-old eyes and wonders if it would help to pull it out and present it like he had his palm. Would the High King handle it with as much care as he does Caspian's hand? The thought doesn't scare him. It feels right to offer up tangible proof of what he is prepared to give for Narnia. 

"Your heart speaks well," Peter says at last. The fingers around Caspian's fist tighten briefly. "We have heard it." 

Distantly, Caspian notes that he is crying, and must have been for some time. He blinks to clear his vision and finally looks up. Peter's eyes are gentle, amber fading back into familiar blue. The pressure of his gaze lessens ever so slowly, like armour being taken off piece by piece. Caspian lets the last tears trail down his face and breathes in, then out. Utter contentment replaces his earlier awe as smokey air fills his lungs. 

Peter's lips twitch. He loosens his grip on Caspian's hand, not quite letting go yet. His free hand leaves Caspian's neck to wipe away a tear with his thumb. "Courage, dear king. We will get you a crown yet." 

Caspian doesn't think he's ready. But there is hope within him again, a steadiness that Nikabrik's whispers had robbed him of so easily before. Now the air is heavy with a different magic, so much deeper than the horrible ice; magic that makes his heart sing with hope. So he smiles. Happiness and victory no longer seem like a far-off dream. Peter's responding smile is bright in the dim hall, and Caspian feels like he is looking upon a summer sunrise. Nothing seems impossible within the light Peter brings.

"Come on," Peter says with a nod towards the exit. His hands withdraw from Caspian. He takes a step back but doesn't start walking immediately. Instead, Peter closes his eyes with a deep exhale. His body shudders. The light seems to fracture around him, fires flickering in contrast to the sunrise.

Caspian averts his gaze from the sight and takes the time to straighten his shoulders and clear away the tear tracks. The weight hasn't left, but it no longer frightens him. Peter's blessing - and with it, the blessing of Narnia herself - has thawed the icy terror wrapped around his chest. Caspian's breaths come easy as Peter turns to leave. With every step that Caspian takes out of the room after him, his promise settles like a well-worn cloak, its warmth filling his very soul to the brim.

Narnia and her High King have deemed Caspian worthy. His cut palm pulses, a reminder of the silent oath between a king of old and the king to be. There is a throne to reclaim, and Caspian knows they will win.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this little thing popped up in my head today, and i feel like it's a companion piece to this fic in a lot of ways. so i wanted to add it, as a small bonus for you all <3 hope you like it! i'm very proud of it :D

They ask you “when did it start to feel like home”   
And it catches you by surprise  
To think of a time where home was not here

You want to say “when I knew it was real”  
“When my feet found new ground   
And my eyes knew all tales to be true”  
But it would be a lie  
And those now taste of ash and old spilt blood  
Don’t they? 

You remember the moment it became you  
The moment it claimed you as its own  
The moment you knew   
No other places would ever do

When calloused fingers tangled with yours  
Like roots crawling through fresh soil  
When a smile tugged at bloodied lips  
To outshine the rising sun with magnificent ease  
When words steady as a sword cut through it all  
And built themselves a shrine inside your mind

It was then that you knew.  
  
Sometimes you wonder if he knew as well.

If he knew he was pulling you apart   
Like a ~~childbeast~~ _king_ playing with its food   
Until it hit bone to crack and shatter and   
If his fingers slipped in your blood  
When he reached in to twist every shard   
Of the shattered mirror of your ancestors  
Until your insides became a mosaic   
A prismatic sea of all you will be one day  
Pieced together under watchful stars that still  
Remember when he was where you are now

He smiled and the sun rose behind him and  
Your heart started beating with a new rhythm  
His hands were red and his eyes looked like a beckoning sea   
You understood then why your ancestors feared it for so long  
But their fears’ claws had disappeared somewhere   
Along the path your stumbling feet took to follow him  
Remade, reborn as you were  
The lands around you staked their claim at last

Maybe that is when your wish to sail came as well  
Crashing over you with all this sudden clarity  
This yearning to brave unknown waves of deepest blue until  
Your hair is stiff with salt and   
Your hands ache with the burn of coarse rope  
Or perhaps that is a new desire  
Now that he has gone and left his roots   
To curl around your ribs without his hands to rein them in

It isn’t what they want to hear, you think  
Though you can’t help thinking they would understand

After all,

He was theirs long before your eyes found him

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you thought. this is another piece i'm very proud of and that i'm very attached to <3 you can find me on my [narnia tumblr](https://bloodybigwardrobe.tumblr.com/) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/notanycritter). my tumblr has a couple tiny ficlets as well that haven't made their way onto ao3, if you're curious :D


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